


Soft Linen Socks

by LunaBeth



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, fruity pebbles, fucking walmart, locker room angst, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaBeth/pseuds/LunaBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cena just forgot to pack socks. Jeez.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Linen Socks

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this quite a while ago, actually. Just never really got around to posting it, but I was looking into old files and found this cute little pathetic thing. Love Cena & Punk. Oh, the nostalgia. Anyways, hope you enjoy this little slice of boredom that wrote itself.

Punk knew it was only a matter of time. He couldn't hide himself forever. Not with these circumstances. No matter how many times his inner self truly wanted to tear away from humanity. Away from all the screaming fans, away from all the damn temptations.

 

He just  _had_ to be a wrestler, fucking Christ. But hey, you can't help it. Not when you're born the  _best in the world._

 

What he could've helped, though, was ever getting involved with the goddamn sap, Cena. John fucking Cena. If he drank, he sure would have something to blame. Tough. All there was, was himself and his recurring stupidity.

He didn't mean to do it. He was sure of that. But one minute, there he was, hating the guy. Wondering if it was possible to glare long enough that maybe John would just spontaneously combust - into trillions of little pieces of confetti, of course, it's Cena. Then there he was, the next, completely and utterly emotionally bare under the man's unbelievable grip.

He considered knocking himself out just to keep his mind from over accelerating. 

But after carefully avoiding the persistent, grinding memories with countless comics, countless miles now under his belt, countless Netflix movies he'd been meaning to watch eventually never, he just couldn't do it anymore.He had to think about it. So he did, while his phone rang about a trillion times, each time displaying the stupid, overly confident fruity pebble's last name. He had to give it to Rock, the nicknames were just spot on.He wanted to throw his phone against the wall. He almost did but then he remembered he never bothered to get a separate cell for business. So he needed the only phone he had. If anything, Cena was blocking all the potential business calls he could be receiving. Which made Punk hate him even more.He didn't know how it happened. One minute he was in his locker room, stripping down for his usual shower before the hotel, and the next, the big brute just sticks his head into the room -never mind not even bothering to knock- and asks if he has extra socks. Who the hell even asks that? You choose goddamn wrestling as a profession but don't bother to remember to pack any fucking socks?And what the hell made him think his dinosaur feet could ever fit a toe into Punk's soft linen socks? _"Uh,_ _can't_ _you ask, like, Big Show or something?_ _I'm_ _sure_ _you can fit your entire body into one of those."_ _John smiled his perfectly pathetic dimpled smile, "You're_ _the_ _closest one around."_ _Punk made a disgruntled face, nothing noteworthy, "Nice try loser, but I happen to know your locker room's two hallways down. In fact, I was the one that made sure that was arranged."_ _John chewed on the corner of his lip. "I was in the neighborhood."_ _Punk raised his brows in mocking disbelief._ _He watched Cena stand there. Waiting. Staring. Eying him in a way that set him on edge. Yet_ _,_ _he didn't want to punch him in the face as much as usual, strangely enough._ _Punk rolled his eyes, finally realizing that Cena really_ _wasn't_ _going to leave. He turned to his black and neon pink sports bag and dug out a pair of dark blue socks with white stripes. His softest ones. They were the first ones he found, okay._ _He stretched his arm behind him, managing to keep his back to John. "Here. Next time, be a big boy and at least remind your mom what to pack for_ _you_ _. Or go to fucking Walmart."_ _He could_ _practically_ _feel John grinning._ _"Walmart_ _doesn't_ _have these babies. Super soft by the way."_ _"Best for the best." Punk muttered, stuffing some of the clothes that had fallen back into his bag._ _Seconds later, John still_ _hadn't_ _left. He felt the irritation of his presence. Plus, he_ _hadn't_ _heard the door close._ _"What is it Johnboy? Tampons, is that what you need now?_   _'Cause I'm_ _f_ _resh out of_ _those."_ _"No. Just wanted to ask if you,"_ _He_ _paused, obviously_ _thinking_ _of_ _something_ _to say, "if you had some lotion."_ _Punk still_ _hadn't_ _turned but he was sure Cena knew_ _how_ _ridiculous_ _that_ _sounded._ _"Lonely night?"_ _No answer._ _"Well, sure, 'long_ _with_ _some cucumber melon scented bath bubbles to top of_ _f this splendid_ _evening of yours. Might as well, right_ _?"_ _"Hey, look, I_ _didn't_ _mean to bother -" and then there_ _was_ _a hand on his shoulder. Punk turned immediately, shoving the giant brute hand right off him._ _"Right. I have to shower. I was actually in the process of doing that before you rudely let yourself in." He turned back to take out some black_ _sweatpants_ _, "Could've been naked."  He grumbled, searching for an extra tee._ _"Maybe_ _that_ _wouldn't_ _have been such a bad thing."_ _Punk froze._ _He_ _wanted_ _to turn around. Yell at Cena for such an absurd use of words. Kick him_ _out_ _or maybe kick him in the face. Whichever came first._ _But he_ _couldn't_ _move._ _At least he found the extra tee._ _After waiting for hell to freeze over, after hoping John would take the goddamn hint and leave, the silence split_   _with a clear of a throat._ _"That was out of line. This is stupid. I didn't come here for socks. I actually have about ten pairs in my bags. My mom has great memory, by the way." John chuckled inwardly. "I guess, I just - I don't know. I wanted to see you. Talk to you, if you'd let me."_ _Punk swiveled around without missing a beat. "What exactly do you think you're doing Cena?"_ _John held up his hands, displaying innocence._ _"Nothing you wouldn't want me to do."_ _"Which is anything going through your mind right now, you goddamn sociopath."_ _Punk knew that was far from true. If anyone was a sociopath here, it'd have to be himself._ _John eyes flashed with indeterminable emotions. "You sure about that?"_ _Punk scoffed and turned back around._ _Silence._ _"Here. I guess you'll need these back."_ _Punk_ _should've turned. Showed his indifference. Instead he set his eyes to the tattoos on his arm._ _Staring_ _as if they had magically appeared on his exposed skin._ _He really_ _didn't_ _know_ _what_ _was wrong with him._ _He's_ _had guys come on to him before. To_ _which_ _he responded civilly._ _But_ _this_ _. This was just too weird._ _He reached his arm back slowly. Waiting for the soft fabric to scratch softly against his palm._   _Waiting._ _Instead he was met with a rough calloused hand. One that radiated warmth and_ _distinct_ _yearn. One that fit his own like a missing_ _puzzle_ _piece_. _He should have moved._ _Then_ _again, he_ _should_ _have done a lot of things._ _Twisted around instantaneously, not even realizing he was being_ _spun_ _until his nose met the man's in front of him, he still_ _couldn't_ _move._ _Ocean eyes met_ _his_ _._ _"What do you want, Cena?" He meant to spit it out. Make it cruel. Well, more cruel than usual. But the words were nothing more than soft, along with a small crack in his voice_ _that_ _made_ _his jaw clench in distaste._ _John_ _didn't_ _reply. At least not verbally. His other hand, though, had slowly drifted towards Punk's face. Leaving his other still idly at ease over Punk's, thumbing his clammy skin. It made him shiver and sear all at once._ _His face was now being caressed. And fuck,_ _he'd_ _never admit to leaning into it, just the slightest bit._ _He closed his eyes, Cena's face still perfectly_ _visible in his mind_ _. He hated it._  


 

 _"Go away." He swallowed._

 

 

 _"Look me in the eyes and say that, Punk. Then I_ _promise_ _I'll go. Without another word."_

 _His voice went running, betraying him._ _And just as fast as every moment leading up to this one, he was being shoved against the wall. Arms pinned against the hard drywall. Flesh burning with the blazing heat of Cena's lips, pressing desperately into his neck._ _A guttered moan escaped his throat, involuntarily._ _Cena's voice came as a surprise. A surprise Punk's mind wasn't too fond of. Not right now with what they were doing. He wanted more. And he hated himself for it._ _"I always see you, Punk." Cena pressed a soft kiss to the pulsing vein coursed through the side of CM Punk's neck._ _Punk forced his eyelids shut._ _"I_ _didn't_ _plan this, I want_   _you_ _to know that._ _Didn't_ _mean to..do this._ _Not t_ _hat I regret it."_

 

 _"Well,_   _you're_   _doing it, might as well finish the job."_

 _John chuckled against his throat. "I_ _know y_ _ou_ _don't_ _do_   _one_   _night stands._ _And I_ _respect that. I swear on my life, I respect that."_  
 _A huffed breath later, Punk peeled his eyes open, curiosity getting the_ _better_ _of_ _him._ _He searched Cena's eyes for any trace of bullshit. He was always very good at that. And fuck, all he could identify was the kind of sickening sincerity John always carried around willingly, and it sort of made him want to vomit._ _"But that's not what I want. After seeing you alone this past week. I_ _mean, y_ _ou're_ _always alone but it felt different this time. I c_ _ouldn't_ _help_   _myself." He felt John's blue orbs skim over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, before landing back on his eyes, "I just want you to know that_   _you're_ _wanted, Punk. Phil." Cena's lips brushed against his cheekbone, "Even if it's just by somebody like me."_ _Punk watched as Cena leaned over slowly, giving Punk the right amount of time to pull away if_ _he_   _wanted to, before planting a small l_ _ove bite_ _on the c_ _orner_ _of his cheek. And then a peck at the corner of his mouth._ _He pulled away afterwards, a hand still lingering at the curve of Punk's back._ _Punk bit on the inside of his lip as he stared at the tile floor, wondering why he hadn't noticed its sudden beauty before._ _"You done now?"_ _Cena's eyes flashed with...surprise? Hurt?_  


_Honestly, what did he expect?_

 

  _He smiled, but Punk saw that it was forced. He knew all about forced smiles._

 _"Yeah. I guess I'll...see you around."_ _Punk nodded before_ _heading_ _off towards the_ _direction_ _of the shower._ _So vulnerable. So goddamn pathetic._ _What the_ _actual_ _hell was that?_ _"Close_ _the_ _door_ _on_ _your way out." He guttered, finally in the shower room._   _He hated himself more than anything right now._ _ _And before turning the water on, coldest temp, he heard the door finally come to a close.__ _ _But why...didn't he feel fucking ecstatic__   _like_   _he should have?_

Two days later, after fruitlessly running over that practically cinematic moment a trillion times in his head, Punk kissed him.

 _He_  kissed  _him_. Punk  _kissed_  Cena. It was unexpected for both of them. And Punk proceeded to take a 3 hour ice cold shower after that, for reason's he will not specify. It was ridiculous, actually. He'd swore to himself the day before, Cena was a lunatic.But then there he was, talking to Sheamus about whatever the hell Irishmen and meaty overly ecstatic wrestlers talk about. _He watched, concluded he was just wary because he'd be fighting Sheamus in a few days and needed to be alert. Laughable really, 'cause CM Punk doesn't give a shit about his opponents. To each their own, he'd win anyway._ _Then the ginger left with a pat to Cena's back. Punk was still watching. Yeah, maybe he was being a creep._ _But then he was walking._ _And then blue eyes met his with shocking recognition. A grin, slowly edging it's way up Cena's face._ _But not before Punk pulled him in with a careless hand, pressing the roughest kiss he's ever given onto the face of the man he supposedly hates. Which he totally does._ He considered possession. But he's never had a track record with the paranormal and he hasn't touched a ouija board since...well, since never.Punk chewed on his lip, letting the ring of the phone drone on and on. Letting it rule his consciousness.

 

 Momentary insanity. Yep, that was it.

 _Cena was grinning the entire time, even throughout the kiss that might have lasted a bit too long. Both hands wrapped gently around Punk's back, pulling him in closer, close enough to brush his lips along the crook of Punk's neck, sending shivers down his spine and elsewhere._

 _He jumped immediately out of John's grasp._

 _Punk pointed a finger at Cena, not exactly having any words ready to throw at him, so it was just silly looking the first couple of seconds._

 _"Nope. No. No, no, no." Punk couldn't stop blabbering. He was gonna stab his own neck. He doesn't blabber. His finger still in the air, he waved it between Cena and him, "This, no. This is a no, do you hear me, Cena? Do you understand what I'm saying, the words that I'm spewing at you, you giant cinder block?"_

 _As threatening as he wanted to be, he knew he sounded like a fucking child. And Cena knew it too. Standing there with that stupid grin. Punk wanted to rip it right off his goddamn face. But he wanted to do other things too. Fuck, it downright disgusted him._

He couldn't do this. Be with Cena. I mean, it's literally on top of the list of most ridiculous things that could ever possibly happen to the world.It just didn't make sense. Any well-adjusted person had to see that. So why didn't John?Punk groaned aloud, glad no one was around to witness this. They hated each other. They were supposed to hate each other. That's the way it's always been.So what the flying heck is Cena's end game here?It can't be that Punk's striking beauty just now caught his eye. Please. It can't be his character either. Cena is a pit of fiery flames. Engulfing everyone in his path with his feeble, endless spiritedness.Punk's a crystal glazed iceberg. Left to shine, and ruin everything in his path. The Titanic, for instance. Yeah, it didn't make sense. And after having another two full days of perpetual phone calls, which he'd ignored of course, it still didn't make sense.Undeniably enough, he wanted it to make sense. Or to at least understand Cena's strange, wacked out logic.That's it.Punk ran a hand over his face, through his hair, with a sigh before reaching towards his phone. Forcing himself not to think, not to stop himself from getting answers due to his overly fond sense of pride.He cut off the ringing, without using the ignore button this time."Well." Punk muttered into the phone. Didn't let himself say anything more.  
"Finally.""Yeah, yeah. You wanted to talk, I'm here.""After the hundredth ring.""Shut up. Just. Shut up."He could see Cena's stupid grin from here."Right. I'm on the floor below yours, you know."Punk stared at one of his tats, "I'm aware.""Great. Come down when you're ready. Room 618."He hummed in response."Oh and Punk?""What?""Hurry up."

 

Before he could spit back some sort of devilishly concocted insult, he heard the click. Oh, he hates Cena. Hates him like it's his godforsaken destiny to.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that wasn't too terribly executed. Jeepersssss


End file.
